


What-Might-Have-Beens

by Noctiluca (noxie)



Category: Velvet Goldmine
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-28
Updated: 2011-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-28 08:19:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/305799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noxie/pseuds/Noctiluca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What might have happened if Curt had granted Arthur that interview.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What-Might-Have-Beens

_Make a wish_  
And see yourself, on-stage, inside out.  
A tangle of garlands in your hair  
Of course you are pleasantly surprised.

_Softly, he said...  
I will mangle your mind._

 

Curt frowns as he blows out a cloud of cigarette smoke and glances at me. "What do you want me to tell you, man? You already know."

His eyes lock with mine, bright, crystal-clear blue. There's just no fooling him. I'd never thought that after all this time...  
But some things we bury in our past, no matter how deep, are bound to rise again. I nod and sigh. In this moment, I finally give up. The past I tried to leave behind so long ago has found its way back to me. It's all still there, preserved deep inside those eyes. And the little smile that's suddenly dancing on his lips brings the melody back to me, the melody of a song I thought was lost and gone forever...

***

Twenty minutes earlier

I take a swig of beer and glance at my watch for what seems like the hundredth time. I hate myself for showing up this early. But a part of me wanted to be there before he arrives. If he comes at all, that is. I'm not convinced. And I can't believe I actually had the nerve to call him on the phone and ask for an interview. Thinking back to it brings back the sweaty hands and racing heartbeat in a flash.

"Hello, this is Arthur Stuart from the Herald. I've been trying to reach Curt Wild for a story I'm doing. I was told I might be able to reach him at this number – Hello? Hello?"

"And what kind story would that be?" a cold voice finally answered.

"Mr. Wild?"

"Yeah." It sounded more like "fuck off" to me.

"I'm doing research for an article on occasion of the tenth anniversary of the fake Slade shooting and I was wondering if..."

"Listen, man, I don't know what kinda info you're looking for but I'm the wrong person to ask, okay? I wasn't even there that night."

"I know. But... I was wondering if you'd still grant me an interview, Mr. Wild."

There was silence for a moment.

"What for? That was a decade ago. Nobody gives a shit anymore."

I paused before I spoke again. "Well, I do."

So here I am five hours later, sitting at a lonely table at this crumbling bar. My back to the wall, my eyes fixed on the door that just won't open. Cecil Drake, Mandy... of all the people I thought of asking about Brian Slade, he is the last to tick off my list. And I wonder why. Maybe I'm too bloody scared to admit that he was the first of all of them to come to mind, I just ignored it. Out of habit, probably. After all, I've avoided thinking of Curt Wild for almost ten years now.

My past. I locked it all up and threw away the key. I never planned on delving back into that time of my life again. For the sake of money and success, you have to make some compromises. Sacrifices even. But I'm leading a whole different life now. Good job, alright enough friends... what more can you ask for?  
My life back then was full of stupid, meaningless dreams. They all burst like bubbles, one after another until there was nothing left. That's when I moved on.

Suddenly the bar door opens and in steps... a living memory.

I try not to stare, but it's hard to tear my eyes away. All those years and he hasn't changed one bit. At first glance he doesn't look a day older. If he changed at all, he only seems to have grown more handsome, his charisma as intense and captivating as ever. Curt Wild.  
His intense blue eyes scan the half-empty room and finally come to rest on me. My heartbeat accelerates, and I hate myself for it. I swallow as he slowly walks towards me, black leather jacket, tight black jeans. He stops at my table and I get up, stretching out my once again sweaty hand. I'm a grown man, for Christ's sake - why do I feel like an awkward schoolboy?

"Hello. Arthur Stuart from the Herald. Glad you could make it."

He only nods as he sizes me up, then finally takes my hand and squeezes it firmly. "Hi."

We sit down and he immediately produces a pack of cigarettes, taking one between his lips and lighting it in one single, fluid motion. I watch with silent fascination, forcing myself to sit sill, when all I want is to get up and run away. Hide from everything that his presence is bringing back to me. All that was lost... is it really lost? I'm too confused, feeling small and young, so young. Bollocks, I can't do this. I simply can't. All the while my heart is beating loud and fast.  
I somehow manage to pull myself together and look at him more closely. And is he ever gorgeous. I notice a few small wrinkles around his eyes, adding character to his face. Bearing the years of outrageous drug and alcohol abuse in mind, it's a miracle how well he looks. He got out of rehab some years back. The first good Curt news in years back then, and I may have pretended not to be hugely relieved. He seems stable enough now still, sitting opposite of me, taking a puff and scrutinizing me coldly. There is something in his eyes, a chill that spooks me a little. I don't remember ever having seen him look so guarded way back then. Maybe because he never was.

"So what are you after, Mr. Journalist?" he finally breaks the silence.

I finish off my beer and gesture for the barkeep to bring another one.

"What're you having?" I ask Curt.

"Coffee." He sounds impatient.

I nod and place his order, then look at him. "I'd like to hear your version of the story."

"My version?" He leans back in his chair. "That was a lifetime ago, man." He fixes his eyes thoughtfully on the wall behind me, seemingly drifting into a memory that suddenly brings a little smile to his lips. As if he knows a secret. It lights up his face, and when he looks at me again, the guarded look has vanished. He looks into my eyes, deeply, and I get goosebumps.

"Arthur... Stuart, right?" He takes a drag on his cigarette, his eyes so much warmer now. "Ask away."

***

Twenty minutes later I smile and close my little notebook. I've got all that I'm gonna get from Curt, and that's really not an awful lot. This was the strangest interview ever, and there have been quite a few nutters I've talked to in my time. Not that Curt's a nutter. But he has me fidgeting nervously under his intense gaze, every answer creating only more questions. We both reach for something to drink at the same time, and our fingers brush each other's briefly. I glance at him, the momentary touch setting something inside aflutter. I feel hot all over, caught between never wanting to leave and wanting to run as fast as I can. I can't shake the feeling that he knows. That he remembers. But how could he? It's been ten years! Just a one-night stand, that's all it was. To him, it must have been. For me, it changed everything. It marked the beginning of a new life, free of shyness and awkward insecurities. If someone like Curt Wild could want to be with me, I couldn't be all that bad, could I? For the first time in my life, I could believe in myself, see a future... and meaning. That one night changed everything for me.

I remember the morning after, hanging around on the rooftop in the mild morning light, just talking and fooling around carelessly. The intimacy was unlike anything I'd ever experienced. Almost like a dream. Almost too good to be true. It was like you could actually touch freedom... and make it yours.  
And then, after a while, after hours maybe, I'd fallen asleep. And when I woke up he was gone. He'd come into my life like a storm, blowing everything I was ashamed of away. And he left me incomplete, craving more. I could never bring myself to forgive him that.

Curt looks at me as if he knows. Who is he, really? I've always wondered. There's something about him that makes you do things you never dared to do before. And it's still there. The truth is, I'm completely lost. And totally smitten by him again, helplessly.

He smiles and glances at my notebook. "So, Arthur. How d' you wind up being a fuckin' journalist?"

A strange question to ask a stranger. Unless... I blink slowly. He's holding my gaze with an open, easy smile that speaks of familiarity. "I don't... Do you... do you remember me?" I ask hesitantly, feeling stupid and small.

Curt's smile widens and he laughs. "You've been wondering."

My heart is beating so loudly he should be able to hear it. "So... do you?"

"Death of Glitter, right?"

My heart skips a bloody beat. I nod slowly, too amazed to speak.

Curt looks at me as he takes a long drag on his cigarette. "We were talking on the rooftop. You said something that struck a chord with me... You said..." He trails off, trying to recall. "You said you were going to be who you'd always wanted to be from now on. That I'd shown you how to do that." He tilts his head slightly to the side to study my face. "It seemed ironic at the time."

"Ironic how? I mean, you're Curt Wild. You always did exactly what you wanted."

He smiles to himself. "I was a fucking junkie, man. I was high on Brian still, even then. But what you said to me that day... made me see reason, somehow." His eyes find mine. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't owe you."

"Wow." That's really all I can say to that, I'm speechless.

And Curt seems to find that amusing. "So? Did you become who you wanted to be?"

"Hell no." The words slip out without me thinking, and only when I hear them do I realise that it's true. This life I've been leading... it's one of self-denial, of unnecessary sacrifices, of stupid compromises for hollow dreams I never really cared about. It's the story of my life or what it has become. And it never was Brian's fault for letting it all crash down, although I always wanted to see it that way. Maybe Curt's the only one of all of us who never really sold out. But his voice, too, was silenced a long time ago. And here we are now, the remains of dreams that were too good for the world to believe in.  
We've both been prisoners of what-might-have-beens. What might have been if he and Brian had never broken up? What might have been if the faked shooting had never taken place? Where would we be now? Certainly not here.

He's still looking at me with that amused look on his face and his eyes don't even try to hide that he likes what he sees.  
I try to see myself through his eyes for the first time, the way I must have looked that night at the concert. So young and charmingly innocent, dressed up as Maxwell Demon. What had he seen in me? Brian? A chance to be with his lover for one last time?  
Yes, he had. Of course he had. He'd seen the same immeasurable adoration in my eyes he must have seen in Brian's the first time they met. And suddenly I understand why he left while I was asleep. Because I wasn't Brian. Because he wanted me to be myself, to go and find my own way.  
And what have I done with the freedom he gave me? I've all too soon gone and denied the only side of me I ever really cared about, I ever really liked. I close my eyes and try to tell myself that it's just the memory of a teenager's crush that's come back to haunt me now. But if I'm honest to myself, I know it isn't true. I still want him that same bloody way I always have. And if I try real hard, I can still feel him inside of me, his body pressing against mine and the sound our moans echoing in my ears.  
Looking back, I don't regret having made love to him that night. Strange, but I never have. But I never told a soul about it either. I can still see it in his eyes, the danger, daring me to give in to what I've always wanted. A second chance. And if it's only for tonight.

The night's still young. Like me. I'm still young, young enough to do something completely foolish. And completely right. Something I should have done many years ago. It's time to unlock the door and embrace the past, my past, my life. I can still recall every word he said to me. He called it a freedom. A freedom you can allow yourself. Or not.

I look into his eyes and smile. He smiles back at me. "I think that rooftop's still there," I suggest with a grin.

Curt arches an eyebrow. "Then what the hell are we waiting for?"

And as we get up and stand facing each other, he suddenly lifts his hand and gently wipes something off my cheek, his skin soft on mine. "Eyelash," he says and grins, looking at his finger and then into my eyes again."Make a wish, Arthur."

I laugh and shake my head. "No wishing necessary. I'm planning on making it true."

Curt stops a passing taxi cab and we both climb in, sliding up right next to each other. I can feel his breath on my neck when he turns his head and looks at me with a wink. "You're halfway there, Arthur Stuart from the Herald."

"Halfway will never do," I mutter as I lean in, feeling strangely daring and elated. Curt chuckles, the initial coldness and bitterness of our meeting vanished into thin air. He's bringing the melody back to me, soundtrack to the life I always dreamed I'd lead. No more what-might-have-beens. I can hear my old favourite song in my mind, fresh and renewed with a promise of freedom. I pull Curt close, drinking in the familiar scent of his skin, and we kiss.


End file.
